


a dark world aches for the splash of the sun

by LogicalBookThief



Category: Ant-Man (Movies), Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Nebula backstory, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Team as Family, a bunch of assholes grieving and finding comfort in one another, implied Gamora/Peter Kraglin/Yondu Nebula/Mantis, just a lot of character explorations and interactions, mostly friendship & family centered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-17 05:23:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15454260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LogicalBookThief/pseuds/LogicalBookThief
Summary: He opens up his messages, where two are waiting: one from Nebula, one from Rocket, and none from Quill. His gut lurches but he shoves it aside.Both are distress signals with no message, just typed coordinates. Nebula's closest, give or take a few jumps, but Rocket's location is a sucker punch.Earth.AU where Yondu lives and Infinity War happens on schedule. Yondu, Nebula & Rocket centric with an ensemble cast of Wakandans & Avengers.





	1. not with a bang

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently discovered a love for the Guardians of the Galaxy after seeing (and re-seeing, like, a hundred times) Vol. 2 and have also realized I'm still not-okay after Infinity War. But of course, then I thought, what's even more painful than exploring the fact that Rocket lost his whole team and Nebula lost the sister who gave the Infinity Stone up for her - oh, a still-alive Yondu learning the kid he realized he loved so much he'd give his life for is gone, you say?
> 
> ...so, yeah. Angst ahoy, though not without a heaping helping of humor and comfort to help it go down.

_Dying was no apology. Wasn't much of a redemption, really, but it was all Yondu had left to give. Lost it all - his ship, his crew, his pride – lost damn near everything he'd spent his whole life gaining, except for Quill._

_Quill were the one thing he couldn't afford to lose._

_So he didn't fight the frigid tide that tore at his lungs 'til they ached, heavy and full. Full of pride for this kid, who'd grown up with more goodness than Yondu could've ever hoped, and he told him as much, or at least tried._

_"Yondu! Yondu, no, NO!" It was a wonder he heard any of the half-assed but heartfelt apology, what with all his screaming and crying. "Please, D- Dad, c'mon–"_

_It couldn't be natural, what that word did, squeezing his chest worse than the lack of oxygen. Quill hadn't called him that since he was a lil' thing, and that were accidental, a silly notion he had when Yondu first picked him up._

_He couldn't spare the breath to hush him, tell Pete it's alright. Instead he framed his kid's splotchy, snot-crusted mug in his hands like it was the most precious sight in the galaxy._

_Dying for Quill, that were the easiest thing he'd ever done. Surviving for Quill, well, that were harder – Yondu had a lot of truths to clear up and a lot of mistakes to answer for._

_But it was the least he could do for his boy._

 

 

 

They say, far as Yondu's heard, that his is a vaguely empathetic species. Not to the degree of the bug girl that's joined Quill's group of Guardian do-gooders and yet... Supposedly, it was a connection to the natural world, severed when they cut the fin from him as a wee boy, screaming raw with pain and outrage 'til the slave master threatened to _give_ him something to howl over. 

Call it a whiff of that leftover instinct, a sliver of his homeworld clinging to the roots of rotten memories, when Yondu shivers in tandem to the deep breath of silence before the world explodes. As if he's lost in that split-second, something vital and irreplaceable, yet he can't explain this feeling of _bereft_  in any capacity that might be understood. 

What he can translate is the sudden, crucial urge to call Quill. Just to see and be assured by his dumb pink face appearing on the screen. He doesn't get the chance to act on the weird impulse before the levee breaks and his ship spirals into chaos.

Reports pour in from every quadrant, panic spreading like a plague. Life signs and thermal signatures disappear one after another, except there's no attack, no enemy, _nothing_. No reason for people to up an' vanish! Yondu's barking orders on the control deck, sending teams to investigate and tamping down on steadily swelling frustration, and then  _it_ happens.

One of his recruits – Rajek, piss-poor kid from Betali VI, smart enough to earn a spot on the bridge – sways away from his station with a noise that reeks of dread. Leela, his young navigator, rises uncertainly to her feet.

"Raj, what's wrong?" she asks.

"I don't... I, wait–" His wide, frantic eyes turn to her as his body falls apart. Pieces of him scatter across the controls and Leela sinks back into her seat with a muffled yelp.

 _"Kraglin?"_ Yondu demands, a razor sharp tone that translates to _What the fuck is this?_

His first-mate ain't in an enviable position, trying to explain through his own rapidly growing stress. "Half the crew, sir... S'gone," he rasps.

"Gone? The hell does that mean?" Yondu snarls into the disturbed air that's snagged his bridge and won't let go. "Gone _where?"_

"Nowhere," Kraglin murmurs. He sounds mystified and a touch scared. "Just... They're gone."

 _Just gone_ ain't an answer that can quell this crisis and keep his bridge together. Yondu glances at where Rajek stood not a moment ago, four arms an' all. A twinge of fear bobs at the bottom of his throat.

"Sir?" Kraglin calls as he stomps off in what is firmly _not_ a retreat. 

"I'mma call the Ravagers and see if we ain't the only ones." He swivels for the door, kicking up dust with his heels. "An' sweep that mess u–"

Leela's blanched lips gape at him and Yondu realizes what he's suggested. "–uh, never mind. Keep us on course."

He treks to the captain's quarters in quick, measured strides; no sense causing more alarm than's already gripped his vessel, drenching the halls in eerie silence. Ravagers aren't famous for calm and compliance, and the superstitious, space-faring man in him balks at what must be an ill-tiding omen.

As soon as the door shuts, Yondu opens up his messages, where two are waiting: one from Nebula, one from Rocket, and none from Quill. His gut lurches but he shoves it aside.

Both are distress signals with no message, just typed coordinates. Nebula's closest, give or take a few jumps, but Rocket's location is a sucker punch.

 _Earth_.

This is an old fear that gnaws at him – the fear that Quill will get it in his head to run to his mama's planet, where he'll be ripe for whatever degenerate Ego next hires to retrieve his offspring.

But Ego is _dead_ and Quill has friends in tow. Not the brightest bunch, though that's a tad hypocrite of him, considering the overall IQ of Ravager crews aren't the most inspiring. Unlike Ravagers, though, Quill's little band is loyal to a fault and Greenie and Rat, at least, have a proper brain or two between 'em. Even Drax, Bug and Twig ain't useless.

If Quill's on Earth, p'rhaps that's for the best. Perhaps he's managed to avoid this shitstorm entirely and is just checking on his old man.

Quill is sentimental like that. _Gets it from his daddy_ , the rat jokes nowadays. Used to be that kind of talk would earn a whistle. Now Yondu laughs, and swats at both the rat and his kid, because he's got a goddamn reputation to uphold.

Nebula's call is a bit more bewildering, although not by much. After the Ego fiasco – after Yondu didn't succumb to deep space exposure, after his lungs thawed and Quill wept on him, shouted insults, then wept some more, after a misty-eyed Stakar wandered over to his sick-bed and extended his hand in reconciliation – Nebula boarded their ship with the excuse of needing a ride. Kraglin was initially wary of their stowaway (girl had shot off his captain's implant, after all) but he didn't seem inclined to stop her, either. With his first-mate keeping an eye out, Yondu sat back to observe the Titan's so-called daughter.

Blue was a damn fine bounty hunter, way better than Quill had been. Quill did have her beat at lying and thieving, though, so Yondu at least tried to impart his wisdom in those areas. She was an aloof one, Blue, yet as the weeks went by and she hadn't begged off, claiming she was waiting on a tip, he caught Kraglin teaching her cards and he caught himself enjoying her cynical quips on the bridge.

He couldn't deny the gal looked right in Ravager red. 

Last they heard, she was on her self-appointed mission to rid the galaxy of Thanos; she'd got her tip, borrowed a ship, and was off within an hour. Yondu half-heartedly believed she'd succeed through sheer spite. At best, he hopes she's merely stranded and requires another ride. 

In the time it's taken to read those messages, a new one has arrived, flashing bright with priority. It's Stakar.

The man who always seemed so ageless now looks every bit his age, his face drawn tight. Those stone-cut features loosen by a fraction when Yondu answers.

"You're still here," is how he greets his sort-of son. Yondu grunts in unnecessary confirmation. "Then I assume  _it_ hasn't escaped your attention."

"Mean the man on my bridge who disintegrated to ash, along with half my crew?" Gravely, Stakar nods.

"Aleta's fine," he relays, as if he needed telling. No calamity would dare try to cross Aleta Ogord. "Marty, too. Charlie and Krugarr, though..."

Stomach clenching, Yondu remembers. Remembers marveling at iron torn like tissue paper by Charlie's massive fists, how those same hands gently pried his younger, quiverings self from his shackles. Remembers Krugarr ushering him aside one day, mindful of every movement, showing him books filled with a language he'd forgotten, because slaves weren't allowed to learn. 

"We're gathering the council," Stakar rips him from the reverie, the duck of his chin bitter as he mutters, "or what remains."

"Not like you to wallow, old man." The informal-bordline-disrespectful address is an indulgence on Stakar's part, just as it's a indulgence Yondu affords Quill.

"Not one to find myself short half an army at a moment's notice," Stakar retorts, but there's the hint of a smirk before he sobers again. "What are your coorindates?"

"Send me yours and I'll meet ya at the rendezvous," Yondu promises. "But I've got a couple things to take care of, first."

"It can wait."

"M'fraid it can't." 

A warning flashes in that steely gaze.

"Boy, if you plan on doing somethin' _stupid–"_

"See you at the rendezvous." He pounds his chest in salute. If Stakar wasn't spitting mad before, he is now.

Regardless, Yondu ends the calls.

"Kraglin, the ship is yours," he says over the comm. "Set a course for Stakar's location."

 _"Sir?"_ Kraglin's cry of protest crackles in his ear.

"Family issue," he replies tersely, and switches off the comm. 

Even though Kraglin's technically more family than crew, that wasn't an invitation to join. How he managed to beat Yondu to the M-Ship is almost as miraculous as the day's dizzying events. Damn those gangly legs of his.

"Didn't want you forgettin' your lucky charm, is all." He chucks Yondu that ugly ass doll of Quill's that, since the orb incident, has been the hallmark of his trinket collection.

Yondu grins, stroking at the doll's ridiculous tuft of hair. Kraglin, the eel, uses this as an opportunity to park his hind in the co-pilot chair. Yondu bares his teeth, the grin morphing into a scowl.

"Whatchu think yer doin', Krags?"

"If it's all the same to your, sir," says his first-mate, smooth as Krylorian silk, "I'll be goin' with ya."

He glares with less heat than he prefers. "Disobeying a direct order? That's akin to mutiny."

Despite lacking in menace, Kraglin wilts. The comment strikes a spot of soreness in their long-winded history: the forgiven-yet-not-forgotten mutiny he unwittingly instigated. Yondu isn't mean enough to keep up the pretense of anger, but he isn't above using it to his advantage. 

"Got to have someone watchin' your back, sir." Kraglin shrugs like he's made some impenetrable leap of logic. "Somethin' happens and Quill will be whining to me 'til I shoot myself out the airlock. Figure this way I'm less likely to die."

That is extremely feasible. Yondu snickers. "Boy don't know when to quit, do he?"

"Stubborn lil' shit," Kraglin agrees, and can't quite suppress a smirk when Yondu smiles like that's a virtue, not a detriment. 

"Let's go an' grab Blue, then," he relents, stowing the doll in his pocket instead of its characteristic place on the console. "Rat, Quill an' the rest will hafta stay outta trouble in the meantime."

"Aye, c'pn!" 

He isn't much in the mood to chat, and Kraglin, sensing this, flips a switch so that a copy of Quill's music streams softly out of the speakers. He sinks into the seat with a sigh, ignoring that odd, nagging sense of bereft that he's guessing won't go away 'til he has those dumbass kids in sights again.

 

 

 

On Titan, they land in what appears to be a disaster zone, at the epicenter of which sits Nebula. Not out of character, that. Yet it's off-putting, the ragged sight of her, which hardly stirs at their approach.

"Blue?"

"You got my message," she replies without inflection. Yondu pauses at a distance, knowing she ain't one for fussing, yet close enough to check her over and decide that physically she's no worse for wear.

 _Mentally_ is another matter, judging by the state of things.

"The fuck happened, huh?" Kraglin asks oh-so-eloquently.

Nebula doesn't blink, doesn't even look at 'em. "Thanos," she breathes, short and circuit-frying. 

 _"Shit,"_ Yondu utters, staring at the battered landscape. "Fuck, shit..."

At his heel, Kraglin repeats a similar slew of curses.

"Take it the family reunion didn't go so well," he says, tactfully as he's able. It's a miracle she's standing before him, still alive, and he's glad.

Except Thanos ain't famous for his mercy. And Yondu's never much trusted miracles.

Kraglin twitches for his knife, muscles on-guard. It's what tips him off to the only other presence on this desolate planet (and what kind of captain is he, so preoccupied not to notice). 

Calling it a presence may be a little generous, though. Man is crumpled in the dirt, and it _is_ a man, upon closer inspection, although from neck to toe he's encased in a metallic armor. Nebula isn't explaining but she isn't slashing any throats, either, and that's a ringing endorsement in her book. Yondu relaxes, gestures for Kraglin to do the same. Dark, tumultuous eyes follow the movements.

"Who's Papa Smurf?" The man raises a shaky, metal-clad finger at Yondu. "Another of those guardians?"

He's had a legion of awful names bestowed on him, most of them deserved, but nobody except Quill has ever referred to him as _that,_ because it's some obscure icon of Terran culture. Come to think of it, this guy is probably Terran, with his pink-flushed complexion and how out-of-his depth he seems. That's a hanky coincidence as it is, but–

Guardians, he said. Like he's met others. 

"What's he talkin' bout?" Yondu asks with an edge. "Your sis and the rest around?"

Nebula's gaze still hasn't strayed from the ash-covered ground.

"My sister is dead." Her fury is, for once, quiet. "Thanos killed her."

Kraglin's gasp tickles his ears. Greenie is tough shit thanks to her shit of dad and it's nigh _unbelievable_ for her to have fallen by his hands. It's un-fucking-forgivable, a father destroying his own child, but Yondu knows from experience that it isn't impossible.

"Sonuva fucking-" he starts, because Gamora is a gal worth grieving, and if even he feels the sting he can't imagine what– "Where's Quill?"

The question leaves his mouth in a stuttered exhale, completely unbidden. The breath Kraglin exerted a minute ago sucks straight back into his first-mate's lungs.

Clever, wily Quill. Runs in guns blazin' half the time, but to to his credit, usually with an exit strategy in mind. Kid wasn't one-hundred percent a dumbass, and besides, Yondu taught him better. 

 _Unless_.

Unless someone Quill loved was in trouble, then all that good sense went flying out the airlock, along with the self-preservation Yondu has tried to instill in him for twenty-six years. It's one habit he could never cull. So if Gamora is dead–

"Where's Quill?" Off on Earth, crying, broken up inside. Liable to do something incredibly selfish, vengeful and _absolutely_ something dangerous, because nothing's more dangerous to his boy than his own tattered heart. 

Yondu needs to find him, fast, before that boy does something to nearly get himself killed again. 

"He traded her life to get the stone. As if it was his to _give_ ," Nebula spits, her usual fire peeking through the shield of numb that's crept around her heart.

This self-defense is familiar as breathing, and since it's Blue, Yondu might be sympathetic, if it wasn't for the fact that he doesn't have the time. And she ain't listening, she ain't reacting, it's like he's a whelp of a boy, wailing at folks who refuse to hear his pleas, too busy haggling with the slavers over the price of their baby.

"Nebula!" She flinches, twin black eyes snapping up to meet his. _"Where's Quill?"_

He's yelling, even though there's nobody besides the four of them to hear. Nobody is cowering at the howl of the waspish Ravager captain. He can feel Kraglin's worry blistering a hole into the back of his neck. When Nebula casts her eyes on him, there's a shine of something that may be empathy and he _hates_ it. 

"This was his endgame," she tells them in a hollow voice. "Half the universe, obliterated. With the snap of his fingers. The wizard, the boy..."

At this, the Terran winces heavily.

"...Drax, Mantis..." Her speech falters around the name of Bug, who, Yondu guesses, may have been one of the few creatures in this universe she allowed herself to care for. "And..."

She doesn't have to finish. He _knows_ , maybe has known since he shuddered and felt the world rip apart at the seams – and not because the world had actually, literally ended. Because the deep, yawning pit inside of him that scrappy lil' Peter Quill had filled were empty. Empty, 'cause Quill was...

"Everyone except us," Nebula looks collectively at him, Kraglin and the Terran, away from the lives scattered at their feet, "Is gone."


	2. ain't no saints here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever just, remember Gamora and Nebula's arc from GoTG v2 - Infinity War and uhh, cry? Then boy do I have the chapter for you!
> 
> Also featuring: Nobody is handling all this trauma in a productive manner, except Kraglin, maybe Nebula.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind comments and kudos on this story!!! It's thanks to your encouragement I managed to finish this as quick as I did :)
> 
> I took a lot of liberties for Nebula's backstory, since the MCU wiki didn't have much to work with. Some of it's based on Gamora's flashbacks in IW since that seems to be Thanos' go-to method of adoption. Also, I may be posting this during Nebula Week? In which case, I have the best timing: Love that cyborg gal.

_Nebula learns to hate in the same breath she learns to hurt._

_Her life on Lupol is an unremarkable footnote, and despite the years of harrow that follow, she doesn't reflect on her early childhood with any particular fondness. Raised by an aunt who favored her own children, Nebula fought for everything from preferred choice of clothing, food, toys. She learns that fists will get her farther than sweetness, and while her aunt calls her ungrateful, Nebula prefers the term ambitious._

_In her seventh solar cycle, the mad Titan descends on her planet. While her cousins cower in the shadow of his might, she thrashes and kicks, roaring her ferocity at the minions who try to corral her into the neat, dual lines of Luphomoids._

_Thanos fixates on her with interest. Nobody ever looked at her like that, like she was worth a passing glance, much less a god. She is young, and yearning, and preens under his attention, already in love with the idea of being loved._

_(If she wielded the Time Stone, she would return to this moment before any other, so she could skewer that gentle expression with the sharp end of her sword, hack it to unrecognizable pieces. Then she would rebuild him, piece by agonizing piece, and guide her younger self's hand through the process again)_

_"You will make a worthy companion for my daughter," Thanos declares, the echo of Luphomoid screams fading in the distance. Nebula nods, eager to prove she's exactly what he desires._

_Gamora, the daughter he speaks so highly of, greets her with a fleeting smile and Nebula is awed._

_She is strong, truly strong, not merely brutish or swaggering. And she is kind, kinder than Nebula dared to hope, shown in the quiet moments they share (only while not under the Titan's watchful eye). Gamora teachers her to aim the dagger Thanos gifted his younger daughter, and when they spar together, they laugh, and play, and become sisters in that effortless, bloodless way that children do._

_The chance to prove herself comes at their father's behest. A spar, her and Gamora alone, no weapons. Nebula doesn't expect to win; she believes that maybe Gamora will go easy on her, sure, and she's wrong on that account. Nebula doesn't manage to land one hit but when she's flat on the floor, thin chest heaving, Gamora graces her with the smallest of smiles and reaches out a hand._

_"You did well," Gamora whispers. Nebula beams so widely she is afraid she'll burst with joy._

_Thanos disagrees. Gamora is too quick for her to match, her movements too fast. So he has Nebula's eye pulled through her skull and replaced with an enhancement._

_Smiles become a rarity, after that._

_Joy turns to resentment. Admiration sours to jealously. She never stops loving her sister, not really, but hate is a passion that blinds her to all else. Hate makes her strong like Gamora (and yet not as strong as). Hate keeps her alive._

_Love will destroy her and her ambitions, if given the chance. She thinks it's the single fact on which she and her father agree._

 

 

 

 

Of the ragtag crew assembled, it's up to Kraglin to take the helm. It is his duty, as first-mate an' all. And seeing that he's most liable to get them to Terra, nobody disputes this decision.

Captain's gone real quiet. Not the pondering sort of quiet, neither. The worrying sort of silence that takes over when no amount of volume will fix what's broken.

Yondu's entitled to his private spells of ponderance, 'course, though he is far better known for the abrasive drawl of his voice – it's simply his way. Having spent most of his life aboard the _Eclector_ and even a few vessels before that, Kraglin reckons that if a leader _needs_ to be loud to command respect and authority, they've got no business in the chair. Lookit Taserface, for flark's sake.

Harboring secret sentiments aside, Yondu never required more than enough wet on his lips to whistle or a particularly nasty sneer for the crew to fall in line. Few were exceptions to this rule, the persistence of rascally teenage Terrans notwithstanding.

Thinking of Pete pokes at a raw nerve Kraglin hadn't been aware of until the kid vanished like Raj, and Drax, and Mantis. Him and Quill hadn't always been the best of pals (the instant they met, the little fucker bit Kraglin with those gnarly baby tooths of his; he still got the scars) and yeah, he's nursed a couple of misgivings since the orb. However, he's never fostered any hostile feelings towards Quill, lil' or otherwise. Watching a kid grow up, under the constant and often misguided care of your captain, you begin to nurse a soft spot or two.

If he's cut by his own complicated set of grievances, Kraglin can't imagine what's eating at the captain. He don't like it, this strange and vulnerable stupor. He wishes Yondu would unleash a bit of rage, if only to prove there's still a spark of life inside of him. 

With this bunch in similar state of disarray, Kraglin does what he does best. Picks up the slack and does his job.

One job he don't relish, and must do nonetheless, is locate the _Benetar._ He finds the shipwithout much hassle and does his damndest to disregard all the Guardian's crap, 'specially Pete's special brand of sentimental shit. He owes it to Pete, though – the kid deserves some kind of relic to remind them of him and his gang of brave, weirdo friends. Kraglin'll retrieve the memento, but he ain't the fella to carry it. 

"Found this," he says in an undertone, pressing the Zune into Yondu's slackened fingers. 

He gave the Zune to Pete on the captain's behalf, when it was touch-and-go after the Ego fiasco. Now he's giving it _back_ and he can't even offer the consolation of the kid maybe being okay. Screw the universe for forcing him into this position not just once, but _twice_.

Yondu clasps the device until his knuckles pale and then, mouth stretched taut and trembling, nods his rigid thanks. Kraglin relaxes a mite; honestly, that's as good as he could've hoped for.

Clapping his shoulder - and lingering a minute too long because Yondu don't shove him away with his usual brand of belligerence - Kraglin wanders to where Nebula and the Terran have congregated. Stark, he gathers, is what this fella goes by.

"I need to get back to Earth," he says, conveying that frantic style of determination with every sway.

"You're in luck," Kraglin interjects. "S'where we're headed. Rocket asked for a pick-up," he clarifies to Nebula.

"Who?" asks Stark.

"The raccoon," Nebula replies simultaneously to his, "Buddy of ours, the rat."

Stark blinks like they've sprouted antennae and are communicating in a telepathic language. Bit slow on the uptake, this one. Quill wasn't nearly that dense back in the day, was he?

On the M-ship, Stark clatters into a chair and breathes loudly through his nose. Yondu doesn't claim a seat and Kraglin don't push. He watches him through the Zune, exhibiting more signs of a pulse than he was five minutes ago. Hasn't moved to place the buds in his ears, but. Progress is a gift horse you shouldn't kick in mouth or whatever crap Quill used to spout.

Nebula settles into the co-pilot station, gaze stretched out towards fathomless space. What she sees beyond the periphery is anybody's guess, and since their first attempt at small-talk went oh  _so_ swell, Kraglin ain't inclined to prod her with open-ended questions. Probably half the reason she don't mind his company.

By contrast, the sound of Stark's own voice seems to be the only balm he's got. Like if he keeps talking, it'll barricade against the catastrophic shitstorm that's knocking down their door. It's grating, but it's beneficial at least, when he recounts the confrontation with Thanos. 

Every other word is Avenger this, Avengers that – as if he's ripped a page from the colorful comics Quill used to horde. Kid had complained 'bout missing his own collection (the adventures of Captain Meri-cah and Booky, whoever) 'til Yondu snapped that if he didn't stop his whining, he'd be dinner. Couple cycles after, though, Yondu took the kid planet-side on a "scouting" mission that never amounted to anything, and for the next week nobody saw Quill without his nose buried in a picture-book.

Predictably, Stark's tale don't end on such a happy note as those did.

 _"We had him,"_ he rasps, metal fingers grinding together as they quake. "Then Quill started freaking out over that girl and we– we lost our chance–"

Kraglin catches the mistake the second it smothers the deck, siphoning every last drop of oxygen. His and Nebula's stares meet across the console; he identifies the recognition mirrored in her yet none of the alarm. Either she can't muster the energy to intervene or doesn't care, and he ain't exactly in a position to play referee.

A hoarse whistle plunges into the silence. An hour ago, that noise would've been music to his freakin' ears. 

Now the arrow pulses at Stark's throat, a hair's breadth away from skewering through his armor like tissue.

_Careful what you wish for._

Incoming crisis or no, Kraglin steers on. He don't have much of a choice.

Damn if he don't hate swabbing blood off the deck, though.

 

 

 

 

Terrans, Nebula realizes, are a uniquely reckless species. Examples being, every stunt Quill has ever pulled and all the unlikely gambits he's thrown his chips on. Recent exposure to other Terra-natives, however, reveals this may be a planet-wide defect.

"Watch your fuckin' mouth, boy." With the tip of a dart poised at his jugular, Stark wisely shuts his gob. "See how easy you talk shit with my arrow down your throat."

Yondu stalks forward, the stiff line of shoulders assuring violence. Ravagers and their kin wear flames for a reason. Space-faring is not a life for the faint of heart, nor the passionless. Yet it isn't passion that stokes this fire, Nebula thinks, taking note of the Zune that dangles from one of his trembling fists.

If Stark didn't suffer from that unfortunate defect, he'd be on his knees and choosing his words very, very carefully. Suffice to say, Nebula _is_ correct and nobody's immune - and as it turns out, Stark's a mouthy bastard when it benefits them least. "I'm telling you how it happened. If he didn't–"

She flashes to the memory of him clutching the spider-boy as he faded alongside the rest. Perhaps this confrontation was inevitable, everyone's blood simmering in their own despair, rearing for a fight that Thanos has already won.

Kraglin swerves the ship around an asteroid. The momentum sends Stark barreling towards Yondu, who lets his arrow clatter to the floor, forgotten. That, Nebula concedes in tune to Kraglin's wary exhale, is not encouraging.

Yondu drags him in by the plates of his suit. "Ever lost someone, Terran? Someone you loved more than anything in the stars-forsakin' galaxy?"

Stark's reply is strangled. Yondu scowls, shaking him a little.

"C'mon, sure you have," he grunts. "Me? I was raised in slave pits on Kree. No love down there – ain't nothin' to lose. But out there in the light, it's a huge galaxy, yeah? Plenty to lose."

Whatever he's searching for in Stark's rapidly reddening face is fruitless and he tosses him away with a snarl.

"You want to keep what you got, you fight anybody what tries to take it from you. Tha's what I taught m'boy, Quill-"

His voice falters, briefly overwhelmed. A prick of irony hits Nebula so keenly it hurts: Under different circumstances, Udonta would probably be the first to chastise Quill for losing his cool in battle, but as it is... 

Abruptly, sorrow hardens into rage. "Now you wanna blame him for doing what he's taught? A kid whose lost more than you backwards ass Terrans'll ever know-"

"C'pn," Kraglin tries, mumbling sorely about "blood" and "mops," though it's clear Yondu isn't listening. At his bidding the arrow rises and flares with crimson it's bound to spill.

Nebula sighs. Without quite understanding her motivations, she stands.

"Yondu," she snaps, grasping him by the shoulder. Her instinct is to squeeze until joints pop, but she clamps down on it and exerts only enough pressure to reel him in. 

"Killing one of their own would antagonize the Terrans," she says pragmatically. Then she remembers she's speaking to a man with loose morals, who's trapped in the throes of grief and stuck on anger. She switches tactics. "Rocket is waiting. Get your head out of your ass, we have a _job_ to do."

For a moment, she believes he'll go ahead and slay Stark anyhow, damn the consequences. It would be his style and she wouldn't entirely condemn it in this instance. Instead Nebula watches the arrow fall into his palm, the heady rush of emotion that near propelled him to murder receding to icy disdain, leaving him unmoored. Battle slaves grow thick skin out of necessity, but she suspects he won't ever be able to stitch this slow-bleeding wound, much as he might try. 

She suspects because she feels a similar pit under her own skin.

"Best keep those opinions to yerself the rest of the journey," Kraglin advises. "Don't know much about Terrans 'cept for their taste in music, so I'll cut ya some slack. Around these parts, disrespecting a man's son is grounds for maiming."

"He ain't the only guy who's lost," Stark bites back.

"Neither're you," Kraglin deadpans. "Case you haven't noticed, half the world done ended."

Any reply Stark may have shrivels up at that. Yondu has retreated further into the ship and really, that should conclude Nebula's good deed for the month. Yet a voice that sounds eerily like her sister insists she amble over to the stewing Terran. 

"Calm down, idiot," she huffs. "I'm going to treat your wounds."

Stark is leery. Given his experience with Nebula thus far, that's fair. However, she _did_  save his ass; a bit of gratitude wouldn't go amiss.

The hero business is, as ever, a thankless one.

"Why?"

"Because I'm such a saint." Off to the side, Kraglin snickers. "You aren't dying after I went to the trouble and I don't plan on going to Terra without an emissary for collateral. So _sit_ and remove the suit."

After another conspicuous prod from Gamora's phantom conscience, she grits, "Please."

He relents, so she doesn't have to resort to threats. Lucky her.

Although her body is mostly composed of machinery and repairs have become more a matter of engineering prowess than medical, the memory is enough; she tends to him with such efficiency that even Stark seems surprised. Before she returns to her seat, Nebula levels him with glare that speaks volumes about what will happen if he jeopardizes the tenuous suspension of this ship.

"You did good," says Kraglin, awkwardly. 

Nebula crosses her arms. "It is what Gamora would have wanted of me," she snorts. By the way Kraglin glances at her sidelong, she doesn't quite manage to sound dismissive.

"Sorry," he offers, genuine yet unadorned. "Hell of a fighter, yer sis."

Nebula doesn't refute that; nevertheless, she doesn't mean for what slips out in its place: "She was kind."

His brow furrows at the admission. Gamora isn't renowned for her gentility and Nebula never painted in the warmest colors. Death allows for another perspective. Allows her to see the strongest woman in the galaxy wilt and shy away, unable to watch Nebula strung up, tortured by their old master. The ghost of her sister's hand as it touched her cheek, so careful and so blasted kind, ignites a fury she hasn't felt since the snap.

"And my foolish sister died for it," she seethes. _"Died,_ because she cared for me, and he wielded it against her."

 _Is that all I was to you?_ Nebula ruminates on the wasted years trying to please her father and feels hollow down to her core. _A pawn to keep her sharp and keep her weak with sentiment_. 

She wants to spear his head on a stake and let it watch her crush his empire to dust. She wants, sudden and fierce, for Gamora to do it with her side by side. 

"Yer right," Kraglin mutters. It's so flippant she is jolted from her fantasy. She searches for any hint of mocking, for which he would die, yet his face is completely stoic. 

"Sentiment capped us in both fucking knees," he concedes. "But... Well, I dunno."

Nebula growls, a wordless reminder that she is not in the mood for ambiguity. He hastens to continue.

"Just that, Quill went an' saved the galaxy with all that sentiment we tried to kick outta him. Twice." Kraglin shrugs, idly scratching at the prickly scruff dotting his chin. "Maybe it depends on the god. Or it were two flukes in a row. Hell if I know. With a track record like that, though, I reckon sentiment can't be the worst thing."

There is a certain degree of Ravager logic to his case, yet in their current state of affairs, Nebula begs to differ.

"My sister gave Thanos the location of the Soul Stone in exchange for my life."

Kraglin whistles lowly. "That _were_ kind of her," he agrees. Nebula scoffs around a bitter, burgeoning smile. 

"Stupid, and kind."

"C'pn says there's no difference." His eyes flick towards the shadowy corridors of the ship, broadcasting his concern. "Didn't stop him from saving Quill."

And it hadn't stopped Quill's eradication, taking him from the same father who'd sacrificed himself for his son. In what sort of universe, she wonders, does that constitute a balance? This wasn't equality - this was a farce. And as per usual, it was up to Nebula to rectify the wrongs.

If her sister's kindness rescued her from their father's cruelty, then that kindness will be his downfall. It would _not_ be in vein.

Nebula would destroy Thanos.

For herself. And for her sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really am in love with writing to the tone of space-hick. And in love with writing these assholes in general. 
> 
> Please tell me what you think and leave kudos down below!


	3. assholes (re)united

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rocket remembers a promise he couldn't keep and loses more than he ever imagined. 
> 
> The saddest part of Infinity War? Groot reached out to Rocket and calling him "Dad" before he disappears. "Mr. Stark I don't feel so good" whomst??? Rocket watched Groot die twice and I'm still not over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this is my AU, I've also decided that the Asguardian refugees were definitely not killed by Thanos and were in fact led to safety by Valkyrie, Korg and Miek.
> 
> Also, the flashback at the start of this one takes place during GoTG vol2.

_"There ya go," Rocket soothes, snipping Groot out of his damp uniform those clowns dressed him in. "Ain't that better?"_

_"I am Groot!" Groot replies fervently. He kicks the soppy pile of garments for good measure. Rocket snickers._

_Groot whirls on him, indignant. "I am Groot!"_

_"They did, did they?" Rocket frowns. Picked on him, huh – no doubt Groot's limited vocabulary cant convey the extent of what went down. Mutinous bastards had worked the sprout into fit of despondence followed by murderous rage. Far as he was concerned, they were dead the moment he saw Groot trudging through the hall, sopping wet with booze. "Well, you don't got to worry no more, 'cause they're dead."_

_Never let it be said that Yondu Udonta let a grudge go unpunished. Ugly ass teeth or no, Rocket was starting to like the guy._

_Kid reeks of booze still and is sticky, so Rocket licks his paw and rubs it over Groot's bark. Groot gags and punts at the paw, cranking defectling every attempt._

_Laughing, Rocket scoops up his wriggling limbs with ease, which gets the kid really mad. Yeesh, when'd he last have a nap?_

_Sticky or no, Rocket cradles the kid in his arm – what the hell, ain't like he'd never been matted with alcohol smell. Reluctantly, Groot settles down, rubbing against his face against Rocket's fur like he does when he's tired._

_Maybe it's the tenderness of the private moment, or the heart-pounding worry over Ego and what's going to happen to Quill, yet for whatever reason Rocket finds himself saying, "And I ain't gonna let nothing happen to ya again, ya hear?"_

_Groot blinks owlishly. "I am Groot?"_

_Rocket scoffs, "Yeah, really! What, you don't trust me?"_

_"I am Groot!" he swears, and if maybe it chokes Rocket up, that instantly implicit trust, well, nobody's there to hold it against him._

_Nobody'd trusted Rocket that much before Groot. Nobody'd had reason to._

_"Duh," he chortles, disguising his sniffle. "Not like anybody else has the brains to look after ya."_

_A head tilt. "I am Groot?"_

_"Sure, okay, Gamora," Rocket concedes._

_"I am Groot."_

_Rocket sighs. "And our resident lughead, admittedly, has a decent bit of parenting know-how from having his own kid, I guess–"_

_"I am Groot?"_

_"You're countin' Yondu?" Groot nods, which pretty much settles that; evidently, Yondu's a de facto part of the team now.  "Alright, but who's your favorite?"_

_Groot mulls it over, considering the competition. Rocket scowls. "And if you say Quill–"_

_In Pete's defense, the sapling says, "I am Groot."_

_"His music is maybe the only saving grace you can count–"_

_Rocket worries that the little guy is hurt more than he let on, then he realizes that he's giggling. "Am Groot!"_

_"Ha! So I_ am _your favorite!" Rocket chuckles. "You lil' bastard. You were just toying with me, weren't ya?"_

_Groot nods._

_"That's mean as hell, Groot! Who taught you that?"_

_Snickering, the sapling points an accusatory finger at him_. " _I AM Groot!"_

_You, Dad! Rocket swallows. Aww, hell. Well if he wasn't choked up before, then he is now. Should you get choked up for being a bad influence on your kid? Probably not._

_"Figures," Rocket hums. A_ _sshole runs in the family, after all._

 

 

 

 

"You must keep up your strength, my friend." 

Rocket sniffs disinterestedly at the plate Thor lays in front of him. 

"What is it?"

"An Earth delicacy," Thor explains. "A thin, fluffy cake often served with maple sugar. I believe they are called–"

"Jackflaps," Rocket suddenly exclaims.

"–pardon?"

"Quill tried to make 'em once. _Tried_ being the operative word." Rocket snorts, tearing off a piece and popping it in his mouth. "Oh, so they're not supposed to be charred black. Had a feeling. _Apparently_ cooking somethin' from childhood memory ain't a good idea when there's flammables on board."

Egged on by Thor's chuckling, Rocket sucks the syrup off his fingers. "Now that I know for sure I'm givin' Star-Munch shit about that for sure. Galley smelled like smoke for weeks."

The God of Thunder sobers, lips pressed into a thin line. Rocket scowls, hackles rising. He hates the way these Avengers look at him, same way they look at each other. Like he's a–a goddamn-

_Loser._

Like he's lost something. And he has ( _God_ , he has). But not all of it. Not yet.

"They'll come," Rocket repeats obstinately. "You wait an' see."

"I understand," says Thor solemnly, and he does, is the thing that makes his sympathy almost bearable. "I entrusted the care of my people to a dear friend. We parted ways when Thanos was upon us; my brother, Heimdall and I were to battle the tyrant so she could lead them to safety."

Thor swallows, the bob of his throat at odds with the optimism of his smile. "I have not yet received word from her, but I am confident that she will answer."

"How?" Rocket demands, wincing at the snarl of his tone. He doesn't mean to be an asshole, he _don't_. Not to Thor, whose brother is dead, whose whole family is dead, and whose second round with the Titan was as resounding a failure as the first. Guy like that don't need Rocket's sass on top of everything.

"She is far too strong to be bested by the likes of chance," Thor replies with a wide, besotted smile. The comment doesn't grate like arrogance; it sounds like he has so much faith in this friend that he doesn't doubt her for a second. Rocket should take a leaf out of his book.

"Yeah, and my friends are too damn stubborn," he agrees, smiling back.

His sensitive ears prick at the static from Thor's comm. 

"Agent Woo to ahh...Thor, God of Thunder?" calls an uncertain voice from the other side of the line.

"Yes?" Thor answers eagerly. They've both perked in anticipation, wanting news, preferably in the category of _good_. 

"Reports of what appeared to be a spacecraft spotted in Wakandan air came in just minutes ago. I was told to inform you immediately in the event of this."

"Invaders?" Thor stiffens. With Earth in such a precarious position, the whole planet's been on edge in case of another attack. 

"...well, they were definitely aliens," says Woo, haltingly. "Small craft, had a rough landing. Didn't appear large enough to carry Asgardian refugees, but they were definitely bound for Earth–"

"Those're my guys!" Rocket intercepts giddily. "Ha! Told ya, didn't I?"

Although it's not the news _he_ was hoping for, Thor shares in his joy. "Can you give us the coordinates?"

"Uh, about that," Woo's voice crackles awkwardly. "There may have been a hostile response."

"WHAT!" Rocket yanks the comm from Thor's ears, ignoring the god's yelp. "Those're my friends, you dickweeds!"

"It's been a hectic week," "We're sorry for the, ah, inconvenience. Sending coordinates now."

"Bureaucracy," Rocket curses. where he's perched on Thor's broad shoulder. "Uh, mind giving a pal a lift?"

With Thor's hulking leaps, they get to the site fairly. They find the M-Ship on Wakandan soil, banged-up in the crash and a tad worse for wear, yet nothing if not fixable. Fixable is a loose term with Rocket's expertise, though, and while Woo hadn't mentioned casualties and didn't seem like enough of a dick to not mention, his heart still swells when a familiar blue jerk emerges from the wreck.

"Some warm welcome this is," he mutters. 

"Yondu!" Rocket grins. Kraglin stumbles out after him, hacking into his sleeve. "Fuck, am I glad to see you guys!"

"Even you, Lil' Miss Sunshine." He smirks at Nebula when she emerges, a guy in Iron slung over her shoulder. "Who's that? New recruit?"

Yondu sneers. Unlikely, then.

 _"Stark?"_ Thor gapes.

Tin Man wearily lifts his head. "Thor? The hell have you been?"

"I could ask you the same," Thor replies. 

"Everyone knows everyone on this planet, I swear," mumbles Rocket, waiting for the rest of the team to file out.

He's gotten very good at waiting - not to toot his own horn. A couple of minutes is nothing compared to what he's gone through these last couple of days. Except this minute crawls by, and still there's no bickering, no raucous laughter, no tripping over themselves to see Rocket, wonder where he's been, where _Groot is._

A sharp prickling throbs behind his eyes. The momentary thrill of the reunion dissolves into dread and disappointment.

He looks desperately at the Ravager captain, who won't quite meet his eye. "Where's..."

 _Quill. Drax. Gamora. Mantis_.

"Rat," Yondu begins heavily. The truth is caught somewhere in his throat. All he manages is a numb and broken-sounding, "M'sorry."

Not that he has to explain. Rocket can read between the lines.

Grief wallops him anew, threatening to bow him to his knees. Or perhaps that's merely the weight of Thor's palm settling between his ears, hesitating a moment before gently stroking his fur. The resemblance to the comfort Drax once offered stabs viciously at his memories, eking out tears. He didn't think he had any to spare, after Groot. Didn't think he'd need any. 

 _Me, personally... I_ _could lose a lot_.

"Where's Twig?" Kraglin interrupts, peering at the empty space behind Rocket as if expecting Groot to peek out, as if the kid isn't - _wasn't_ \- taller than him already. 

Rocket's silence is damning.

Perturbed, Yondu jolts. "Nah," he whispers like he got the wind punched out of him. "Not Twig, too?"

"We ain't thought– what with him being–" Kraglin swears, glaring at the ground.

"Guess Thanos wasn't too choosy in who he snuffed with that trick o' his," Rocket snarls and oh, _there_ , that rush of anger. That, Rocket can focus on without fear of falling to pieces. 

"Who's in charge around here?" Nebula demands. 

"For Wakanda, that would be the princess and her mother," says Thor, after thinking it over. "For the Avengers, Steve is probably who you would wish to speak to."

"The captain," Rocket supplies, wiping at his nose. The only remnant of his sobbing is the belligerent sniffle in his voice. 

Kraglin blinks. "Who's captain?"

"America's?" Rocket hazards.

"Guy from those picturebooks?" Yondu wonders aloud, considering the hunk of Asguardian before him. 

"The guy from th– you've read _Captain America_ comics. In space," Stark sputters.

"Of course we will offer any help or aid you may require," says Thor magnanimously, bypassing that tangent altogether. "Any ally of the Guardians is ours as well."

"We are the Guardians," Rocket asserts, shrugging at their merry little band; a mercenary pirate captain, a mutineer with neck tattoos, and an ex-assassin who sometimes forgets about the ex part. "Or well, what's left."

*

*

*

*

"Shouldn'ta yelled at him." 

Baffled, Yondu glances his way. He feels almost sorry for interrupting his brooding over that dumbass troll doll. 

Rocket ducks his chin into his drink. Some kind of "whiskey" the captain had offered as part of their provisions (which Nebula negotiated - maybe negotiation ain't quite the word when the Terrans were quite happy to spare anything she asked for, but far be it from Rocket to argue with Lil' Miss Sunshine displaying a rare show of diplomacy - although he has a feeling Kraglin had to do with the booze being on that _necessary_ provisions list). Didn't pack the punch of the swill you could find in any backwater dive on Contraxia. No wonder Quill was such a lightweight.

"Groot. Right before we went off with Thor. I told him he was being a d-hole."

Yondu grunts. "Was he?"

"Well, yeah," admits Rocket. "He's bein' a teenager, yanno. All moody an' back-talkin'. I dunno how you could stand Quill at that age."

He freezes, wondering if Quill was too tender a spot to be touched this soon. Warily, Kragin cranes his neck towards the pair. The eggshell holds for a muted breath until Yondu shrugs, taking a deep swig of whiskey. 

"Patience?" he guesses. Liquor spews out of Kraglin's mouth. Nebula helpfully slams a palm over his back.

"Riiight," Rocket slurs. He starts to laugher, a short burst of chuckles at first, and then a prolonged, hysterical bout that has even Nebula gazing in his direction (and is that a hint of concern he sees? Maybe this alcohol has more kick to it than he thought). 

"Weren't that funny, rat."

"Nah, I was thinking," Rocket guffaws. "And it's kind of twisted, innit it? The worst a-holes of the lot. Reunited once more."

He raises his bottle in solidarity, yet nobody joins. Proves his point, really. 

"I mean, we're _all_ a bunch of assholes. Were. But _us_ , I'd say we're the most assholish of the assholes. And we're the only ones didn't get snuffed."

The gang digests this bit of wisdom. 

"Damn depressing, what that is," Yondu huffs.

"Why'd you even bring that up," Kraglin adds.

"Honestly," Nebula scoffs.

That wrings another fit out of him, 'til he's a mess of snot and hoarse coughs. Feels nice to laugh, among friends. Asshole friends, true, but they're his assholes and that's what counts. 

"I don't know what to do now," he confesses, pathetic as it is. He nearly got them killed just to have a pissing contest with Quill. Now he thinks he'd let Quill pilot the _Benetar_ without backside driving for the rest of their lives if it meant he'd see that smug idiot's face again. 

"Isn't it obvious?" Nebula retorts. Rocket jerks from his pity party; she sounds so steadfast and _sure_. Like an alterative has never crossed her mind. "There's only one thing left to do."

"An' what's that?" asks Kraglin.

"Kill Thanos," she states, as if it's the easiest choice in the world. "Avenge our family."

Certainly not the wisest move - but coming from her, it makes sense. This has been Nebula's endgame since forever. Only difference here is the stakes. Before, slaying their father might've freed her and Gamora from his influence. Now, it's just a matter of closure and comeuppance. He could be the douche that draws attention to the _obvious_ flaws in this goal, except Rocket likes his limbs where they are, thanks.

Vengeance is tempting, don't get him wrong. Hell, if anything else, it's a thing to keep you going - it's a reason to get up and fight, something to fill the hollow spaces in their lives. And Rocket knows with a sinking conviction that she'll have at least one companion on her suicide mission, watching as Yondu latches onto that goal like a hangman grasping at air.

"Blue's right," he declares, fists clenched at his side. "Ain't letting that bastard get away with it. He's gonna _pay."_

Rocket also knows that where he goes, Kraglin'll follow. Like clockwork, the first-mate shrugs. "Beats sittin' round feelin' sorry."

Yondu looks to Rocket, softer than he has any right to be. "You in, Rat?"

If he said no, there'd be no hard feelings. No exile, maybe a post-card or two from wherever they are on their revenge quest. Or maybe nothing, no word for months, years, until Rocket will have to give up the ghost and consider them dead, too. Stars know they'll never succeed without someone a little less idiotic on board.

"Once a loser, always a loser," he sighs, holding up his drink. Second try is the charm and they all clink glass, one after another, even Nebula, although her lips are determinedly downturned. But she isn't leaving them behind while she embarks on a solo, hate-fueled manhunt, so it's progress for her, and that's as much a reason to celebrate as any.

Surrounded by his fellow assholes, toasting to absent friends, Rocket feels - well, if not content, then at least relieved. 

He ain't getting left behind _this_ time.

Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why Agent Woo, you ask? Because I love Ant-Man and the Wasp and I love him, the only FBI man I trust.
> 
> Hope you all enjoyed! Kudos & comments give life!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments gives me the motivation to write through these feels and are greatly appreciated, folks!
> 
> Next up: some sorely needed Nebula-backstory and a tense road-trip to Earth.


End file.
